


Finding something he didn't look for

by Flying_Potatismos



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Attempt at Humor, First Kiss, First Meetings, First Time, M/M, Oral Sex, Outdoor Sex, Sharing a Bed, technically
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-06
Updated: 2020-05-06
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:09:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24039418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flying_Potatismos/pseuds/Flying_Potatismos
Summary: Jaskier & Geralt's first encounter and the following events, slightly reimagined. Geralt assumes Jaskier is flirting with him, and Jaskier is absolutly flirting with him. Also, there's only one bed(roll)!(I mean, it can't just be me who wonders how the first night Jaskier spends travling with Geralt plays out? I need answers!)
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 1
Kudos: 155





	Finding something he didn't look for

The young bard coming towards him was quite clear about his intentions, from his pose with one leg on a chair while playing his lute to the line about his undergarments - obviously flirting - to the way he looked at Geralt with a kind of excitement he'd never seen before, it was a mystery why he hadn't thrown himself at him already. Geralt didn't mind. He'd been alone for so long having company for the night - even if it was the company of a man - would be much appreciated. 

Then work interviend. Strangely the bard was happy to join him, claiming to want to write a song about what he was going to get up to. Geralt didn’t agree to it, but the bard seemed not to care, promesing him fame and appreciation. “All the North would be too busy singing the tales of Geralt of Rivia! The-the White...Wolf or something!” he exclaimed. Geralt snorted at him. It didn’t matter what people thought of him, or called him, for that matter. He was just a witcher, and the title Butcher of Blaviken had, until now, kept away unwanted company. 

Upon being captured by Filavandrel Geralt did his best to convince the elves to let the human go. Seemingly to no success. The human himself acted more worried for his lute than for himself. Geralt could feel him tense behind him, and reached for his hand behind his back, squeezing it in what he hoped to be a calming way. All as he told him to shut up. This was Geralt's work, and he cursed himself for getting a human involved. Let alone one so clueless. Had the bard only stayed at the tavern he could've come back for the night, no problem, but now? Now, Geralt wouldn't get laid for another month. If he survived, that is. Right now, it seems he might have gotten them both in a pretty difficult spot. The bard yelled something at the elf after she'd kicked Geralt in the face. Geralt could only hear part of it, but he was quite impressed the young man dared do else than beg. When the elf didn't get up after Geralt headbutted her, the bard's voice changed, suddenly concerned. Geralt squeezed his hand tighter, hoping he would understand it was time to be quiet. As he expected however, the bard didn't get it, and he kept arguing with the elven king about the past. It is hard to give up what you've thought to be the truth, likely since childhood, but the bard seemed to take it fairly well. Given the fact that he spoke some elven, he had likely had the human's version of the story drilled into his skull by respectable teachers. It's hard to admit the once you look up to are wrong. 

When they were finally let go, the bard was in a good mood, not at all bitter about having been kidnapped and beaten. As he suspected, it was thanks to the lute Filavandrel had gifted him after feeling bad about the absolutely destroyed one on the stone cave floor. The bard's tearful puppy eyes might just be the most heartbreaking thing Geralt had seen in a long time. However, the spring in his steps and the proud smile on his face was enough to make Geralt forget that he ever saw that. The bard started to compose a song, but immediately abandoned it. Geralt agreed it was shit. It would be better not hang around long enough for the bard to compose anything good. He might just turn out to be an acceptable travel companion. 

"This is where we part ways, bard, for good," he said. The young man looked up at him, disappointed. "Look, I promised to change the public's tune about you. At least let me try," he sighed, and without waiting for an answer he began to strum the elven lute, singing a song which Geralt had to admit was better than the rest of the bard’s work he’d heard. But it wasn’t true to reality. “Where’s your newfound respect?” he asked and the bard shook his head carelessly. “Respect doesn’t make history,” he said plainly. Geralt supposed he had a point. 

When Geralt decided to set up camp in the evening, a few miles outside of town, the bard was still walking by his side. He didn’t want to say he was impressed, and thankfully, when the young man began to complain that his feet hurt Geralt wasn’t that impressed anymore. Yet he felt a certain soft fondness grow in his chest at the sight of the young man struggling to take his boots off of rub his feet. Roach was happily chewing grass as Geralt gathered dry wood for the fire and the bard played a few solitary notes on his lute. It was comfortable, a break from the witcher’s usually lonesome life. 

They sat in front of the fire for a while after dark, the bard talking as he ate the flattened bread he’d carried in his pants half of the day. Geralt only listen to every other word or so and soon retreated to his bedroll. “Good night, bard,” he mumbled. “Good night, Geralt.” The bard didn’t move, and barely quieted. He continued speaking, to Roach, Geralt assumed. Soon however, he was yawning and Geralt could practically hear his eyelids beginning to fall shut. The bard rose from his seat by the fire and Geralt grunted when he felt a tug at his bedroll. Soon, he was gibbed inside it. A bedroll is rarely sewn with a man the size of the witcher in mind, and it’s even rarer for it to be sewn with two full grown men in mind. 

Geralt frowned at the bard, who was looking very happy with the arrangement. “What? All I have is the lute, I don’t expect it to keep me warm all night,” the bard sighed. He nuzzled against Geralt, wiggling his arms around him and laying his cheek against his shoulder. Geralt wasn’t sure how to respond. He supposed, as it was just one night, and it was unlikely he would ever meet the man again, he might as well enjoy it. It wasn’t long before he was sleeping soundly in the bard’s armful.

In the morning he was woken up by the rising sun, and upon crawling out of the bedroll he accidentally awoke the bard, who, he admitted, was looking very loveable with tousled hair and lidded eyes. He made breakfast over the small fire that remained and handed the best roll of bread he had left to the bard. The gesture, which he in hindsight thought might have been a little too much, was acknowledged with a smile and a nod. 

When they had eaten, the bard, sitting on the bedroll, strummed his lute. He began to sing cheerfully: “A witcher strong and mean, yellow eyes so keen, but after days of fights and struggle, he quite enjoys a snuggle!” The bard laughed comfortably, encouraged by the redness spreading across Geralt’s face. “Don’t,” Geralt warned, but the bard continued his song unfazed. There was no point in stopping him so he began to pack up instead. However, the bard didn’t surrender the bedroll even when Geralt asked. “C’mon Geralt, stay for a bit, it’s barely past sunrise,” he smiled. Geralt hummed. “Please?” the bard asked, this time with large blue puppy eyes. Geralt folded his arms over his chest and sat down beside him. 

The bard played the song he’d began to compose the day before. Geralt liked it. It was a blatantly false, romanticized version of the actual events, but he liked the idea of being a friend of humanity. Once the bard had finished his singing Geralt took what he worried might be a last look at him. The bard smiled, laying down his lute. Geralt was sure his lips were trembling as he took the bard in a firm hold by his undershirt. He kissed him on the mouth, gentle, on the edge of chaste. The bard took Geralt’s face between his hands, grinning against his lips. 

With a swift move, Geralt lifted them both to stand up, and once their lips parted he pulled the bard into the nearby woods. “Wait, wait! Where are we going?” The bard stumbled on roots and stones and his own feet as Geralt quickly made his way between the trees. Geralt didn’t give an answer, but they were soon standing at the edge of a stream which had not been visible from the camp. Geralt was quick to take of his clothes and the bard followed soon after. Disguising the need for privacy from his horse as the need for a wash was a good idea. 

They left their clothes on a dry boulder and walked barefoot through the wet grass to the edge of the water. The bard yelped as he stepped into the stream, but soon found it was fairly comfortable. Standing at the deepest part of the stream, the water reaching halfway up his thighs, he dipped his head under the surface and came up laughing. Geralt watched in admiration. The bard, noticing his stare, flicked his hand, a splash of water hitting the witcher. Geralt reached out and laid his hand on the bard’s waist, kissing him deeply. He could feel his own stiffening cock press against the bard’s. It seemed his original hopes had come true after all. 

Geralt pushed the bard towards the waterside, and when he found a smooth spot at the bottom of the stream he knelt down. The water washed over his calves, but reached no higher. He took the bard’s length in his hand and stroke it slowly as he looked up at him. “That’s wonderful,” the bard sighed, “could I write something about this too?” Geralt was sure that it was a joke, but he doubted it was below the proud bard to write a song about getting his cock sucked by a witcher. 

“Just like that,” the bard moaned as Geralt kissed the base of his cock, sizing it up against his cheek. He could take the full lenght of it, and swallowing down around it felt just the way he expected. The bard was helpless under his touch, shuddering and tugging at Geralt's hair. He continued like that, coaxing moans out of the bard until he could smell the imminent orgasm. The bard’s eyes fluttered close and Geralt rose to his feet, one hand on the bard’s cock, the other at the back of his head.

“You wanna come for me?” he whispered against the bard’s temple, his voice thick and hoarse. The bard moaned and nodded in response, hands still shakily clinging to Geralt’s locks. Geralt kissed his neck, breathing hot and teeth sharp. He stroked the bard quickly, his other hand wrapping around his waist to support him. The bard whimpered against his shoulder and came in his hand. His grip on Geralt’s hair tightened to be almost painful, and Geralt felt his own cock twitch. 

The bard gasped for breath for a moment before he guided Geralt’s hand to his ass. He wrapped his arms around the witcher’s neck and pulled him close. Geralt slid his finger between the bard’s cheeks, drawing a breathless moan out of him upon pressing against his hole. In place of oil, the bard’s come did a fine job, Geralt quickly worked him open enough to take two fingers. “Lay me in the grass,” the bard suggested as Geralt slipped his fingers out. Geralt did as he was told and when the bard laid comfortably in dewy grass, he positioned himself between his legs.

Blue eyes glimmered between locks of wet hair, pale cheeks flushed pink, the bard’s tongue darting out to lick at his plump lips. Geralt held himself up above him, awaiting directions. None came, so Geralt leaned down, kissing the bard’s neck and returned his hand between his legs. The bard’s fingers dug into his skin at his neck, soft words of encouragement seeping out between his lips. His free hand pulled grass up with roots and all. Geralt, noticing, interlaced their fingers, holding the back of the bard’s hand against the ground. Warm morning sun slither between the trees, finding them both, and in the light Geralt’s eyes gleaned, pupils large and dark. 

The bard wrapped his leg around Geralt’s waist, urging him on. Geralt lined his cock up against his hole, watching his face. The bard smirked at him, relaxed in his grip. “Be good to me, mister Wolf,” the bard whispered, his hand at Geralt’s neck. Geralt pushed inside him, slower than he thought would be necessary, and upon settling his whole shaft inside him, he leaned down and kissed his mouth. The bard sighed happily. “Oh, Geralt,” he smiled, eyes shutting closed. Geralt built up a slow pace, not wanting to rush and not wanting to hurt the bard. 

Geralt rested his forehead against the bard’s. This wasn’t how he usually enjoyed his release. These days each time he did felt unique. He felt entitled to a little tenderness. One hand holding the bard’s, the other pushing his leg up. The bard threw his head back, Geralt taking the opportunity to kiss at his neck. “Say my name,” the bard squeezed his hand. Geralt pulled back, frowning. “You haven’t told-” he started, cut short. “Jaskier, it’s Jaskier,” the bard hurriedly moaned. Geralt smirked at him. He was a proud bard indeed. 

“Please, Geralt, I’m gonna come, I wanna hear you say my name,” Jaskier panted as Geralt continued his speeding pace. He wanted to wait, hold the bard on the edge for as long as he could. He leaned in close to his ear, kissing at his neck and jaw as he fucked him harder. Jaskier gave a certainly sharp groan, and a quiet “Please” and Geralt stilled. 

“Jaskier,” he purred against the bard’s ear, “do you want me to come in you?” Jaskier hummed in agreement, nodding and wrapping his free arm around Geralt’s back. Geralt rolled his hips against Jaskier’s body, taking his shaft in his hand and kissing at his jaw. He moaned the bard’s name, praising him, hoping to satisfy his desires. It didn’t take long before he spilled inside the bard, the slick come ameliorating his thrusts. Jaskier dug his fingers into Geralt’s back, eyes shut and face wrinkled in fatiguing pleasure. “Ah, Geralt-” he yelped, shuddering and shooting across his own stomach. 

Geralt rolled off him, glad the bard hadn’t dirtied them both. He was ready to leave, but the cold grass felt nice against his hot, sweaty skin. They both drifted off for a moment. Geralt was awoken for the second time that morning, this time by a warm puff of air in the face. He opened his eyes and found Roach’s muzzle an inch above him. “Shh, we’ll be on our way soon,” he mumbled and sat up. Jaskier was sleeping, softly snoring. Geralt poked him. “Wake up, bard.” It would be a shame to leave him there. 

The bard would be absorbed by the ground and become a spirit if he didn’t get up soon, Geralt thought. It would make such a tragic folktale. The spirit would wait for his lover, the witcher, by the stream where he took his virginity, drowning every man who was not his loved one in the shallow water. Jaskier, with his lute and pretty face, would have made an excellent water spirit, Geralt thought, and it would have all been a fairly realistic thought if only Jaskier hadn’t lost his virginity years ago.

Geralt and Roach were back at the camp before Jaskier had even got to his feet. The witcher began to pack up. It was still early, but he had to begin the day's ride if he wanted to get anywhere at all. When he had just secured the bedroll on Roach's saddle Jaskier came back through the woods. He was shirtless, having cleaned himself in the stream, holding his undershirt in his hand. Geralt looked him over. "I want to thank you," he started, taking a hold of Roach's reins. Jaskier smiled as he pulled his undershirt over his head. "I guess I should thank you too. I...I had fun," he said, throwing a gaze at his lute where it stood leaned against a tree beside the bundle Geralt had made of his clothes. "You were good company, and I wish you good luck in the future," Geralt gave him a short nod before he mounted the horse. 

Jaskier picked his lute and clothes up and followed Geralt onto the road. "I hope I'll see you again," Geralt said with an almost invisible smile. Jaskier wrinkled his nose at him. "Yeah, I hope, just turn your head and I'll be here," he shrugged. Geralt halted Roach. He looked confused. "I mean, I hope we'll meet again, as we are parting ways now," he said, raising his eyebrows. "No, no Geralt, I'm coming with you!" Jaskier grinned. Geralt swallowed, flushed. This wasn't what he’d expected. But Jaskier stuck with him, and Geralt ignored the fact that they barely got anywhere seeing as Roach had to stick to a short pace. Instead he did his best to enjoy to the bard's extensive talking and occasionally-good singing. He was good company, a good traveling companion.


End file.
